


rage and three kinds of yes

by Elendraug



Category: Silent Hill
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-27
Updated: 2009-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-21 14:09:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elendraug/pseuds/Elendraug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>because Richard and Eileen were neighbors for years and have always struck me as being friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	rage and three kinds of yes

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to [effie](http://oldsneakers.livejournal.com/) for the title suggestion :D sort of set in xel's ["ghost town"](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2705340/1/Ghost_Town) universe.
> 
> MOOD MUSIC: INTERPOL ♪ rest my chemistry ♫ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BgROCTkVHJY  
> ••••••••••• & MANDALAY ♪ kissing the day ♫ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WX4YzJSJBvo (damn it, xel.)

She's a surprisingly well-behaved kid.

It's a rarity in this apartment complex.

* * *

Downstairs years later, they don't recognize each other.

Richard taps his foot, arms crossed, a slightly-crumpled check pinched between two fingers. Eileen tentatively peers into room 105 over his shoulder (he's not much taller than her, she notes) and catches a glimpse of Frank Sunderland doing... _something_ on the far side of his apartment. Exactly what, she can't tell.

Sensing her behind him, Richard gestures widely, palms up, in frustration.

"I just wanted to pay my rent. That's all. That is _all_." He meets her gaze, her eyebrow raised. "I dunno what he's doing."

Eileen shrugs, not convinced that they're out of earshot. Complaining about the super this early in the game may not be the wisest idea, she thinks. Taking out her cellphone, she quickly checks the time; she was supposed to meet her friends for lunch.

"Can we just leave the checks here?" she suggests, her voice hushed. "It's not like anyone else can endorse them, right?"

Richard considers this, then hmphs in agreement. "Yeah. That works."

Eileen locates a pen and a post-it from her purse, then scrawls a quick note. Handing her his check, Richard watches as she sets them down carefully, just past the doorway. If Sunderland somehow manages to miss them, Richard won't think of it as his own fault.

Slinging her pocketbook back over her shoulder, Eileen waves a quick goodbye and heads for the front door. She might still be able to catch the Lynch Street Line if she hurries.

Richard stomps up the stairs and considers himself successful.

* * *

The laundromat is practically abandoned.

Chin in hand, elbow on knee, Eileen watches her motley load of clothes spin repeatedly around. She should've brought an MP3 player, a book, anything, but it's not like she can abandon her clothing _now_ to find something to do. Maybe she'll take a nap.

Right there. Sitting.

Richard shoves the door open, carrying meticulously categorized laundry in three mesh bags, the bell jingling behind him. He unceremoniously dumps some quarters, some detergent, and some dark clothes into the machine in their various locations. Eileen watches him, for lack of anything better to occupy herself with. Once the water starts filling the washer, Richard sits down next to her on the bench, leaving a comfortable amount of space between them.

"Years ago," he starts, mimicking her posture and resting his chin in his hand, too, "Frank promised that he'd finally get the hookups fixed."

Eileen chuckles mirthlessly. "I bet I can guess how that worked out."

"You got it." Richard sighs, frustrated. "Every time I ask, he says he'll 'get right on that.' Hasn't happened yet."

"Maybe someday," she replies, hoping she sounds more optimistic than she feels.

Eileen idly bounces her leg, the both of them bored and waiting, but at least no longer alone.

* * *

Carrying groceries to the third floor is a hassle, and Eileen finds herself struggling to balance three heavily-laden bags as she maneuvers sideways up the stairs. Mentally kicking herself for not sticking to her shopping list, she somehow manages to get to 303, struggling with the lock and promptly depositing the bags on the floor.

After hurrying to put away the frozen food, she leaves the rest of them where they landed, snatching a bag of Doritos from one of them and digging in. She chomps thoughtfully on several, and is snapped out of her snack-food reverie by a sharp knock on her door. Eileen wipes her fingers on her jeans and peers out into the hallway: it's Richard.

She opens the door and looks at him quizzically. "Yeah?"

"Dropped this," he explains, offering her a package of coffee beans. "I don't know anyone else in this building who has enough class to own a coffee grinder."

Taking the coffee from him, she raises an eyebrow. "Not even you?"

Richard scoffs. "No, I hate that shit. I'm more of a tea person, honestly."

Eileen shrugs, then holds the Doritos out to him. Richard reaches into the bag, takes several, and bites down on one before walking back down the hallway.

* * *

Months later, Eileen finds herself storming into the apartment complex, slamming the lobby's solid door behind her. She stomps halfway up the first flight before sitting down on a step with an angry huff. Tugging at her hair, face in her hands, she concentrates on breathing.

Richard's nothing if not nosy, whether he admits it or not, and stands in the hall at the top of the stairs, leaning on the railing. "Someone's gonna file a noise complaint on you," he warns, though there's no cruelty in his voice.

Surprised, Eileen looks up with red eyes and brushes her hair back away from her face. "I just lost my job."

Without another word, Richard starts down the stairs and gives her his hand. After a slight moment of hesitation, she takes it, and lifts herself up.

"Come on," he says, his sympathy clear. "There's a bar across the street; I'll buy you a drink."

Eileen nods, and they walk slowly and quietly to Bar South Ashfield, and it's not long before Richard's witty sarcasm and the bartender's tasteful flirting has cheered her up. After a few rounds of pool, they return in a considerably better mood. Eric's phone number is scrawled on a napkin, tucked away safely in Eileen's pocket.

* * *

 _"I know his name and face, but that's about it..."_

* * *

Richard brandishes a crowbar at her, landing a rough blow on her shoulder, ominously close to the numbers carved into the curve of her back. Eileen lashes out, swinging wildly with the riding crop, shrieking and violently fending him off. Suddenly he's behind her, his movements unnaturally accelerated, the crowbar poised to bash in her skull.

Henry beats him down with the aluminum bat until he's on the broken concrete, twitching and coughing up what might have once been blood but is now a sickening, black, tar-like substance. Wasting not a split second, Henry drives the sword through his spine and pins him to the ground, thrashing and screeching out guttural noise.

Eileen stands, shaking, for a long moment before Henry grabs her arm and urges her forward. They can't afford to stop moving.

She never speaks of it again, and when they're all reborn, it's as if it never occurred.

* * *

They sit on the stairway of South Ashfield Heights' main entrance and survey the world that Walter has created, passing infinite time by pointing out differences in the area compared to the actual reality. As more days pass, it's harder to remember how things used to be, and their sessions become a ritual to preserve the fleeting memories.

Sein Martin and Bobby Randolph dart around the corner of the building, their excited chatter amplified by the u-shaped walls of the complex. Eileen distantly thinks she hears a camera clicking. Richard sends the two a nasty look, which in turn sends them running off again.

Shaking her head, Eileen gives Richard a faint smile. He faux-sneers at her, and she laughs.

They resume watching their ever-changing eternity.


End file.
